


i wish the world were ending tomorrow

by immortalflowers



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Fluff, Hongjoong is a photojournalist, M/M, Touch-Starved, author takes any chance they have to describe seonghwa in the gayest way possible, don't think too much about the woosanjoong tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28339209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalflowers/pseuds/immortalflowers
Summary: He wonders about the things he left behind—the forgotten charger in Milan, his favorite sweatshirt in a hotel room in Peru, a piece of his heart on lovely green mountaintops and salty seashores, and the person he left in Korea five years ago.Hongjoong quits his job as a photojournalist and returns to Korea to find that many things have changed, but his feelings for a certain someone with stardust in their eyes have stayed the same.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kim Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 18
Kudos: 95





	i wish the world were ending tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Julovesyunhwa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julovesyunhwa/gifts).



> this was written as part of the Writiny Secret Santa fic exchange on twt. to my Santee, I hope you like it and have lovely holidays! <3
> 
> [title comes from Kafka's Letters to Milena: "I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: "Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow."(...)"]
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/yoongsicle)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/immortalflowers)  
> 

Hongjoong has seen so many night skies, it’s hard to keep them all in compartments in his mind; it’s hard to keep them from vanishing without a trace. Even the prettiest ones—the Northern Lights in Abisko, or the blinking stardust on the open seas between Sicily and Pantelleria. There’s nothing left to remember them by, but the feeling of freedom and openness that’s been following him throughout all these years he’s been away.

Why would you ever constrict yourself to staying in one place when presented with the opportunity to see the world? To see everything?

Staring outside the little dirty window (and he’s just happy he got the window seat), the world below him looks so tiny, until the plane starts getting closer and closer to the ground. Growing exponentially bigger; big enough to swallow him whole. 

He wonders about the things he left behind—the forgotten charger in Milan, his favorite sweatshirt in a hotel room in Peru, a piece of his heart on lovely green mountaintops and salty seashores, and the person he left in Korea five years ago.

He closes his eyes and it all disappears for the next 15 minutes because he is back and all those things can be replaced, Hongjoong’s heart is big enough. Except for that one thing.

He takes a big breath of the bitingly cold, December air—it sticks to his lungs like molasses—and brings the scarf tighter over and around his neck. 

He pulls the luggage with him, a huge silver suitcase with a battered sports bag thrown over it as he attempts to reach the first waiting taxi. 

“Hyung!” someone yells excitedly from behind him, and Hongjoong is soon being swept off his feet and into a warm, familiar hug.

“Get off me, Mingi,” Hongjoong laughs but ultimately gives in, and pats Mingi on the back. “You didn’t have to come, it’s fucking late. I told you not to!”

“As if we wouldn’t come pick you up. C’mon hyung what do you take us for?” Yunho cuts whatever Mingi was about to say off, standing a respectful distance away, and enveloping Hongjoong in yet another warm hug.

“Two excitable puppies, that’s what,” Hongjoong mocks. “You two really didn’t have to come, though. I was just about to call a taxi,” he says, putting his phone back in his coat pocket.

“That’s okay, we were awake already,” Yunho smiles, looking over Hongjoong’s head at Mingi who goes beet red under his gaze and looks away shyly.

Hongjoong narrows his eyes, looking from Yunho to Mingi, “Are you two…”

“Together?” Yunho asks cuffing Mingi on the head when he tries to hide behind Hongjoong. “Yeah, we are.”

“Oh,” Hongjoong gasps, “that didn’t take so long, huh? Congrats!” 

“Thank you, hyung,” they say at the same time, and laugh afterward, hands twined and matching loving smiles plastered across their faces. 

The thing is, a lot has changed since Hongjoong had left. Both back home in Korea, and in his life, so it’s hard to pick up all the pieces of the puzzle, let alone put them together in the correct order.

“Anyways, where will you be staying? With your parents?” Mingi asks.

Hongjoong cringes at the mention of his parents. They aren’t _not_ on speaking terms but it’s not like they’re close. 

“What? You’re not?” Yunho asks when he turns around and sees the expression of mild horror on his face.

“No, uh, I’ll be staying in a hotel room. I paid upfront for it until I find a… more permanent place to stay,” he smiles tightly, walking around them to place his suitcase in the trunk of Yunho’s car.

“How long are you staying for this time?” Yunho asks suspiciously, squinting at Hongjoong. Hongjoong wants to cover from his gaze but there’s not really much space to hide in the middle of the night at the airport no less. 

“Indefinitely,” he mumbles, entering the car and buckling the seatbelt up. 

“What did you just say?” Mingi asks from the back seat, resting his chin on the driver’s seat. Yunho reaches with the hand that’s not on the steering wheel to muss up his hair, and Mingi shrieks despite it being so late.

“I’m not going back. I quit,” Hongjoong suddenly confesses. “I’ve been traveling on and off for years now and I’m tired. I even made a few reservations to look at apartments this week.” 

The kind of tired that is bone-deep. The kind that shows through his loss of love towards photography and desire to simply cease to exist. In other professions, they call it burnout, but Hongjoong’s is so free-spirited, it’s hard to imagine it could happen to him too.

“I just think I need to be by myself for a few weeks, get everything sorted out,” he sighs. It sounds easier than he imagines it will be.

“Hm,” Yunho muses, “you can stay with us for tonight? If you want,” he turns to look at Mingi, who nods his assent vigorously.

“No, no, I got it all settled. We can have late lunch tomorrow, though?” Hongjoong tries to bargain. “I’m tired as fuck guys, I won’t be good company,” he laughs weakly.

“You’re always good company, hyung. Even when you nag at us,” Mingi pipes in. 

“Us?” Yunho questions, mildly offended. 

“Okay, me. When you nag at me,” he concedes, patting Hongjoong’s shoulder.

“But anyways, do you want me to call Seonghwa? You two are still friends, and he asks about you whenever we see each other. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help,” Mingi proposes innocently.

“I…” Hongjoong stutters, his mind reeling. Why would Seonghwa be able to help him? And anyway, “Isn’t he married?” 

Yunho turns to look sharply at him, and Mingi politely reminds him to look at the road because he would like to live a few more years. 

“Have you not spoken to him at all?” Yunho asks bewildered. “In all these years?!” 

“Just the customary happy birthdays,” Hongjoong admits and he can’t even say he’s ashamed. Seonghwa was a train that left long ago. Even before Hongjoong bought the goddamn ticket.

“Oh hyung,” Yunho says and there’s a layer of sadness in his words that Hongjoong never expected to hear. “He’s…” Hongjoong sees him struggle to find the words, as if he’s about to tell him something that will change his life forever.

“What? Did he get a divorce or something?” 

“They didn’t even get that far,” Mingi snickers from the backseat. 

“I don’t quite think it’s on us to tell you, but no, he’s not married. Never was,” Yunho smiles, again a little sadly, a little pityingly.

“ _Oh_ ,” Hongjoong gasps. And then, “Oh, okay,” once the words settle under his skin like paperweights. 

There was something. Hongjoong believes they can both admit that _they_ were something. The kind of something that could’ve been friends and lovers and family simultaneously. The kind that leaves things unfinished but unstarted; like two hands reaching in the dark, knowing each is there but never making contact. Never linking their fingers.

Seonghwa is a can of worms he’ll open once he’s back on track in Korea. 

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Hongjoong says, effectively ending the conversation. Nipping the blooming hope in his chest in the bud. 

The closer they get to the center of the city, the fewer stars he sees in the night sky. It’s like they all fell and decided to settle down throughout the city in the form of millions of fairy lights draped all over the trees and in storefronts.

Hongjoong settles deeper into his seat, cranking the seat heating as high as it will go, and tries not to think of other placeswhere the stars might have landed as well. 

Mainly, a pair of hands and shining eyes from his past.

* * *

Hongjoong wakes up tangled in his sheets, the soft fleece blanket he had underneath the comforter has miraculously disappeared, and he’s left shivering under the one thin layer covering him. 

The weather outside his window is dreadfully bleak; all grey skies, no snow. It’s the kind of weather that doesn’t even let you guess what time of day it is—for all Hongjoong knows, it might as well be 8 am or 4 pm. He prays it’s the second.

Looking at his phone confirms it is, in fact, not 4 pm, but 9 in the morning. He groans. Even though he’s well-rested now, he doubts he’ll survive the day on only five hours of sleep.

He connects his phone to wifi and gets hit by a barrage of messages from Yunho and Mingi asking if he’s settled in well or otherwise feeling okay with all the new information they dumped on him the day before that he still hasn’t quite had the time to work through.

He sends them an okay emoji, and goes to find a fresh outfit (as fresh as it can be, all wrinkled from its stay in Hongjoong’s suitcase for more than 24 hours, and let’s not talk about his abysmal folding abilities) and his toiletry bag. 

He was so tired when Yunho and Mingi had dropped him off that he only took his pants off and immediately crawled under the white hotel sheets. He doesn’t want to get too comfortable, so he’s adamant on staying packed. He’s looking at apartments in only four days, and he’ll take anything that’s decent enough for at least a few months; until then, he can live out of a suitcase, after all he’s good at that, having spent most of the last few years living in hotelrooms.

Before he even manages to turn the shower on for the water to heat, his phone starts ringing, and with it, Hongjoong feels the start of a headache.

“What,” he says into the receiver because there are only two people who would call him this early in the morning.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic to hear me, hyung! You might fall and break your hip in the shower, and then who’s gonna help you?!” Mingi laughs from the other end, his deep voice crackly and slightly distorted with the poor connection.

“God, I hope I crack my head open and die if I must fall,” Hongjoong deadpans.

“This is taking a darker turn then I expected,” Mingi says, and there’s some whispering from his end, like Yunho asking what’s going on to which Mingi adds something unintelligible. “Good morning! Yunho is asking if you wanna grab brunch? You said yesterday you wanted to, and you’re already awake since I saw my messages went through,” Mingi takes on a preppy voice.

“I—sure, why not? Send me the address, I’ll be there...” Hongjoong looks at his phone, “in an hour and a half?”

“Why so late?” Mingi whines, and Hongjoong chuckles at that. It’s nice to be wanted again—it’s been so long since he hung out with people who he actually considers his friends. 

“There’s still some work I have to finish, emails I need to answer and shit,” Hongjoong sighs; he’s not looking forward to editing the last of the photographs he has to send in.

“Oh, well. Okay! Yunho will send you the message with the address, so don’t get lost. But also if you do, give us a call. And Yunho wants me to tell you to, and I quote, _Take it easy or I’ll take us to the shittiest restaurant you’ve ever been to_ ,” Mingi recites, giggling in between the sentences.

Hongjoong smiles, “Tell him not to worry, I’ll see you guys later.” 

When he comes out of the shower, there’s a message on his phone saying ‘ _i’m fucking serious hyung!!! take it easy, okay??_ ’ with the location to the quaint looking restaurant they’ll be dining in.

Hongjoong cringes but takes out his laptop all the same, there are some things he has to finish today. 

He starts drafting the emails.

There isn’t all that much time left after Hongjoong finishes with work to dress up, so he brushes his hair and applies a minimal amount of undereye concealer to look less like a dead person and more like a zombie, and goes to the address Yunho had sent him. Mingi called him twice before he found it—that’s how late he was.

Now he wishes he wore literally anything other than the worn-out jeans and the plaid shirt with a suspicious stain on the sleeve. He rolls the sleeves up after taking his coat off and throwing it over his arm for good measure.

“Hyung,” Yunho waves from the other end of the restaurant, “over here!”

The cold, stormy morning didn’t ease up, so the warm yellow light bulbs overhead are making the whole place look like a cheap old murder mystery. The fact that there’s a person too many sitting at their table only adds to the atmosphere. 

The cold, gripping nervousness starts spreading through his veins. But it’s fine, he’s fine. It’s _just_ Seonghwa. 

“Hi,” he greets, trying to smile. The way the muscles in his jaw are working with how hard he’s clenching his teeth, the smile is probably closer to an awkward grimace. “Didn’t realize this was a reunion,” he cuts into their conversation. It takes a second for his brain to catch-up to what he just said.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Seonghwa says with a smile of his own. Hongjoong fucking knows that smile; he’s pretty sure his painful grimace looked more passable as a genuine smile than whatever Seonghwa is doing right now. “It’s been a long time, and I realize I wasn’t invited,” he finishes, all kindness and good grace.

God. He didn’t change one bit.

“No, no. It’s just… I wasn’t expecting anyone else. I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he says lamely. He’s valiantly ignoring the fact that Seonghwa, _Seonghwa_ is close enough to touch.

Hongjoong scoots his chair closer to the end of the table.

Mingi clears his throat. “Seonghwa hyung comes here really often, and we didn’t realize it would be so full on a weekday, so we didn’t make reservations. He invited us to sit at his table since he was alone.”

“Ah, that’s… That’s nice of you,” Hongjoong says, reaching over to take a menu from the other end of the table. It’s just out of his reach, his fingertips barely brushing across laminated paper. Seonghwa pushes his hand away to pull one out, and hands it to Hongjoong.

Is he as affected by the barely-there touch as Hongjoong is? Because there’s something constricting in Hongjoong’s chest, making itself smaller; making itself _known_.

“Thank you,” he whispers. He feels so fucking pathetic.

Yunho, who’s been watching the exchange happen with sharp eyes, asks Hongjoong about his work this morning. Hongjoong sighs, glad for the distraction, and unwinds bit by bit. Like chipping away at a stone to make a sculpture.

That’s how he feels right now—like a brand new slab of stone being chiseled and shaped. Or maybe closer to a chunk of clay. Something softer, more mellow. More pliable.

Now there’s Seonghwa right next to him, the exact person that that first Hongjoong was modeled by and after. And now, now he’s back, and Hongjoong wonders if the universe is playing a cosmic joke on him. On Hongjoong, who is so very insignificant in the grand scheme of things; his only fault the fact that he loves the stars.

He doesn’t look straight at Seonghwa, though he is conscious of the body next to his. Like it’s a fucking burning supernova. 

He catches glimpses of him in his peripheral vision—a pale naked wrist holding a fork, one leg clothed in pressed pants and put delicately over the other finishing in shiny, pointy shoes. Hongjoong dares not look higher, but he knows there’s a white cashmere turtleneck hiding his long tan neck.

Hongjoong’s heart is in his throat through the whole time they’re eating and talking, but at least it’s still hidden. At least Seonghwa doesn’t know Hongjoong’s emotions for him are as strong as they were the last time they saw each other, just before he left.

It feels like his blood is boiling beneath his skin, trying to evaporate.

They argue for almost five minutes over who is paying. Mingi and Yunho win, Hongjoong promising he’s treating them next time. 

“Whatever we want?” Yunho asks, looking conspiratorially at Mingi, and Hongjoong nods his head. He’s just happy he’s seeing his friends again, money means jack shit when you have enough to live comfortably for the next few years at least.

During all that time, there’s a Seonghwa-shaped ghost pulling at his rolled-up sleeves, blinking in and out of focus in the corner of his eye.

He watches him put his coat on and get one of his arms tangled in the lining. “Here,” he pulls the sleeve out and brings the other side of his coat over Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he smiles, and it’s real this time, the light reaching his eyes like fireflies. “How have you been?”

“I—tired,” he decides lying won’t help him now. “I traveled a lot this year, I don’t think I stayed in one country for over two or so weeks.”

Seonghwa whistles softly under his breath and holds the door open for Hongjoong to pass through. “That must’ve been hard.”

It’s definitely not what Hongjoong expected him to say. He’s heard everything from exciting to interesting and fun, but never hard.

“I guess so,” he replies with a shrug. “It was hard, but I like to think I helped a lot of people too. Did something good for myself and others.”

He shivers in his coat, annoyed that he didn’t bring a scarf or at least dressed warmer, as a fresh coat of snow starts covering the streets. They move under the awning while they wait. Seonghwa buries his face in the scarf around his neck, his hands in the oversized coat that’s cinched at his tiny waist. 

“I’ve seen some of your photos, they’re beautiful,” Seonghwa admits shily. 

Hongjoong marvels at the rosiness on his cheeks, how it colors the tops of his sharp cheekbones so prettily; decides he wants to commit it to his memory forever. Wishes he brought his camera with him.

“So,” Seonghwa turns to look at him after a lull in the conversation. “Did you do it?” he questions.

“Huh? Do what?” Was Hongjoong really so preoccupied with staring at the way stray snowflakes are melting on Seonghwa’s soft, gray hair, or is Seonghwa truly not making any sense right now?

“See the world? You know… what you said before you left?” 

How does Seonghwa ask a loaded question like this without even blinking, Hongjoong wonders. 

Hongjoong wants a cigarette just to have something to do with his hands. He wants to place them on Seonghwa’s cheeks and make him look straight into Hongjoong’s eyes and make him ask that question again, without mentioning the past. He wants to bury them in the sand or concrete so that he won’t be able to move them anywhere even remotely close to Seonghwa. Wants to have them bound behind his back like he’s a fucking criminal. Hongjoong wants wants _wants_.

“Yes,” he breathes out. “Yes, I’ve seen everything.” But not enough. It was never enough.

Seonghwa smiles, and this time—this fucking time—it’s prospective; holding a promise like blood at the back of his mouth. “I’m glad.”

“I’ll see you around,” Seonghwa says, and wordlessly takes his scarf and winds it around Hongjoong’s neck. Binds them together. “Be sure to return that to me now that you’ve seen the world, okay?”

He nods, nose filled with the scent of Seonghwa’s perfume; sweet like candy. Hongjoong wants to laugh.

“Hyung,” a voice calls behind him. It’s Yunho, because of course it is. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Hongjoong smiles, looking at Seonghwa’s retreating figure. “Nothing at all.”

* * *

It’s the fourth day since Hongjoong has come back to Korea which, by his calculations, must mean it’s Christmas Eve. The city has become even more illuminated in this short time if that’s possible. 

Maybe it’s just Hongjoong’s eyes—accustomed to spending hours on end in darkrooms—trying to get used to the ordinary lights of everyday Seoul.

He puts a bare minimum of effort into his outfit (a shiny black button-up, and the tightest dark jeans he owns) and makeup (under eye concealer that proves useless once he smudges dark eyeshadow on his lids). 

He doesn’t want to burden Yunho and Mingi with his lonesome, so he decides to visit the gay bar in Itaewon he’s heard through the grapevine (Yeosang) to be perfect for picking up one night stands.

He just wants to sleep in a warm bed for once and not think about the world; the stars; Seonghwa. It makes him sick to his stomach.

It doesn’t take long after he orders a drink to catch someone’s eye. However, there’s something about the man that just doesn’t sit well in his gut, so he tells him he’s waiting for someone else. They leave him with a leftover flash of neon green fingertips embedded into his retinas.

He orders a second drink not long after, his mind still crystal clear when he wants it at least a little bit muggy. He wants to lower his inhibitions just a fraction so that whatever it is he’s come here to accomplish, doesn’t make it hard for him to look Seonghwa in the eye when they (inevitably) meet again.

He takes another swing of the bitter concoction in his cup and at that moment wishes he had brought his camera with him because the man _looking_ at him deserves to be immortalized. Not only in Hongjoong’s mind but placed in a minimalistic white frame and hung in every photography museum throughout all the places Hongjoong has traveled to thus far (and more).

The stranger starts in his direction, and Hongjoong gulps another mouthful, whipping his phone out to have something to do with his fingers; affecting putrid nonchalance.

“Are you here alone?” the stranger shouts cuddling up to him so Hongjoong can hear him better over the pounding music.

“What gave it away? My forlorn face?” Hongjoong can’t help it but to give the stranger a bitter smile around the rim of his rum and coke. 

“That, and the fact you’ve been standing here alone since you’ve come in,” he shouts. “What brings an attractive man such as yourself all alone to a gay bar a day before Christmas, no less?” 

“The answer is as fun as you can imagine,” Hongjoong responds.

“Well maybe you should join me and my boyfriend,” he says with a cunning smile. It takes all of Hongjoong’s self-control not to flinch and keep his cool. 

Not how he imagined his night going, that’s for sure.

The stranger’s name turns out to be San. San and his boyfriend Wooyoung take Hongjoong home, and it’s only after he’s been thoroughly kissed, and slightly out of his mind, that he asks himself what _the fuck_ is he doing here.

“Are you okay?” Wooyoung asks as if he’s already sensed something wrong. His clever fingers are playing with the skin of Hongjoong’s sternum, but they stop once he realizes Hongjoong isn’t joking in his quietness.

San turns around to look at them and frowns at whatever he sees on Hongjoong’s face. Hongjoong suddenly wants to hide far, far away.

“Do you not want to do this?” San probes, crawling towards Hongjoong on all fours. And Hongjoong wishes with all his might that he does want it. He has these two guys willing to make him feel good with no strings attached, but there’s something (someone) stopping him. 

He hates his heart. Hates the fact it took only one look, one meal, and one conversation to bring back the avalanche of feelings he’s kept so deeply buried beneath all these new memories he's made—the ones that were supposed to keep him away from Hongjoong’s mind.

“I don’t… know,” he whispers, hanging his head in shame.

“This isn’t like your first time or something?” Wooyoung asks with apprehension in his voice.

Hongjoong laughs, “No, no, it’s not.” 

“What is it then?” San coaxes, wrapping his fingers around Hongjoong’s. He’s ashamed to admit that it brings him comfort. This beautiful stranger brings him more comfort than the thought of being alone in his borrowed apartment does.

Is he really _that_ touch starved? 

As of now, there is nothing in Hongjoong’s life that is truly his, so maybe it’s finally time to _make_ something his own.

“Hmm?” San nudges once again.

“Well, there’s this guy...” he begins, lying back in San and Wooyoung’s enormous bed. They go down with him and both cuddle him from each side. Hongjoong feels like he’s drowning.

“Of course there is!” Wooyoung interjects triumphantly but San shushes him quickly.

“We’ve been friends for years now. Met in uni and stayed friends till this day,” he sighs, cringing at his choice of words. 

“And you have feelings… for this guy?” San yawns, rubbing Hongjoong’s hair like he’s petting a fat cat all curled up in front of a fire.

“I thought I didn’t. Don’t. But I’m not so sure anymore,” he tries to shrug it off with two adult men clinging onto him like koala bears, but his shoulders stay firmly pressed into the soft quilt. “In the past, there was a moment when I thought we could be together… It’s funny really. He had a girlfriend at the time, and the two of us were talking about marriage.” _What an oxymoron._

Wooyoung gasps dramatically, and Hongjoong is overcome with the urge to kiss his forehead like a parent soothing a child, so he does just that; wants to push a warm cup of milk and honey into his eager, waiting hands; a sugary kiss on the brow. _Good night, good night._

“Anyways. _He_ was talking about marriage... and rings, and children. And all these stupid things we could never have together—it felt like he was rubbing it in my nose. I took a job offer a few days after that conversation, and I haven’t been back home ever since.” 

_I don’t even have a home anymore_ , is what he doesn’t say.

It’s still hard for Hongjoong to reconcile the fact that he made one of the biggest changes in his life because of a stupid guy who never said he liked him back. Foolish and idiotic of him, really.

“Hyung,” Wooyoung whines, “what happened next?” he slaps his chest excitedly and Hongjoong groans. It’s like tormenting Hongjoong is something he enjoys doing immensely, despite them knowing each other only for a few hours.

“I saw him a few days ago and all those emotions I’ve kept buried deep inside started overflowing like a fucking bottle of champagne,” he admits.

Wooyoung giggles again. “You’re in love,” he says in a sing-song voice. “Wait… why are you here then? Shouldn’t you be at his door? Confessing?” he frowns, already rising from the bed. 

“Right, Sannie?” 

“I’m…” Hongjoong is at a loss for words.

“Calm down,” San laughs gently at Wooyoung and then pets Hongjoong’s hair one more time. Hongjoong tries not to get offended by his soft actions.

“So? What are you going to do?” San asks, throwing himself further up on the bed, and looking at Hongjoong.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, “go home probably,” Hongjoong says getting up, and pulling his shirt back on.

“Thank you,” he says, though he doesn’t know what he’s thanking them for.

Wooyoung scoffs, “Why is he thanking us? I didn’t even get an orgasm out of this impromptu therapy session.”

Opening himself like this to a couple of strangers took a lot more from Hongjoong than he would care to admit. But there’s something kind in San’s eyes, something that tells Hongjoong he understands; that he’s pushed far enough to give Hongjoong some (too much) food for thought. 

“Don’t leave your wounds untreated,” San nods as Hongjoong is leaving their apartment for the night (for good, for forever), “or they’ll start festering.” He shuts the door closed in Hongjoong’s face.

* * *

Hongjoong wakes up bright and early two days after Christmas to make it to the 9 am apartment viewing. He’s so tired from living out of a suitcase, he’s convinced himself to just take the first apartment that’s decent sized and the rent isn’t too high. It’ll be fine for a few months at first; he can find something else later.

He brings his camera with him, too. He hasn’t had the time or emotional capacity to get back into casual photography. But a walk would do him good after being cooped up in the hotel room for the past week.

Arriving at the address, he can see a familiar shape waiting in front of the building. Hongjoong only talked to an assistant when booking the real estate agent, and it must be his luck to have Seonghwa be the one assigned to him.

He feels cold down to his core, shaken and slightly annoyed.

“Hi,” Seonghwa smiles unsurely. He’s carrying a bunch of papers in an envelope in one hand and dozens of keys on a keychain dangle from his other hand. He doesn’t look surprised to see Hongjoong, but then again, he must’ve known all this time that Hongjoong was coming back. Even before Hongjoong came to Korea. 

“Hi,” Hongjoong greets. “I didn’t know you worked in real estate,” he states.

“Yeah, I worked as an accountant for some time after college. Decided office work wasn’t really for me,” he takes a sidelong look at Hongjoong before punching in the pin that beeps and lets them into the warmth of the building, away from the dirty slush on the streets. 

“So, are you really staying? I mean forever?”

“Yes, I quit my job, but it was a long time coming,” he confesses. “Living out of suitcases isn’t really living, you know.”

“I can imagine that,” Seonghwa says, not unkindly, and opens the door to one of the apartments on the third floor. They took the stairs, though Hongjoong notes that there’s an elevator as well. Seonghwa talks about the details of the building—how it’s a great place to live, no students to bother you, the closeness of the bus stations, and the like.

Hongjoong nods along, but his heart is not really in it. He’s thinking about what San had told him. He’s thinking about what all _this_ means—what Seonghwa wants from him. Because he would not survive another heartache. 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong calls and Seonghwa stops short, turning from the living room windows to look at Hongjoong. 

He can’t help but note how handsome he looks. All those years apart have done him good, but there’s still that air of awkward uncertainty about him. So typically Seonghwa. “What are you doing here?”

Seonghwa sighs, looking away from Hongjoong. As if he is ashamed. 

“Truth is—I wanted to see you. I really wanted to see you, and when I saw your name on one of the papers—it was an accident really—I just… I wanted to talk to you, to see how you were doing.” He looks at Hongjoong accusingly through the bangs that have fallen into his eyes. “You never answered any of my messages with anything more than a few words… And I—I just wanted a chance to explain myself. To tell you what really happened before you left,” he hangs his head like Hongjoong is going to reprimand him for seeking him out like this. 

“I didn’t want to hold onto blind hope,” Hongjoong says, pacing a few feet to look out the window. Their shoulders brushing against each other with how close they’re standing. The snow has started falling quite heavily now. There’s a fresh coat of it on the recently cleaned walkway through the park that the window looks onto. “Talk, please. Tell me what you want from me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says, “I’m sorry for making you leave and I’m not proud of what happened,” he laughs, all self-depreciative and barely concealed hurt. “I was really a mess at that time, so maybe it’s better that we’re meeting again. Like this. Like two new people, not far from strangers.”

“I’m somewhat reassured now that I see we’re on the same page,” Hongjoong says, relieved. There’s a new hope blossoming in his heart. “We can start from the beginning.”

Seonghwa nods, satisfied with his answer. “Okay,” another smile finds its way to his face. He seems to have an endless supply.

“Will you tell me?” Hongjoong asks, peering into the kitchen cupboards. “What happened after I left, I mean.”

“Sure, over coffee after we’re done here,” he says. 

Hongjoong ends up taking the apartment, signs a three-month lease before he even looks at another. Seonghwa seems glad, almost giddy after he gives Hongjoong his copy of the contract. 

Hongjoong shares his emotions wholeheartedly.

They talk over coffee and Hongjoong finds himself entranced with the way Seonghwa enunciates his words all over again. Finds the curve of his cheek so lovely and charming he wants nothing more but to leave kisses across it. Leave his mark; a piece of his heart. 

Not yet, though.

For now, he sits patiently and waits for Seonghwa to catch him up on everything he missed out on.

“I was really scared those few months after you had left. I was regretting every decision I took that led me into that mess,” he sighs. “I’m glad it all turned out the way it did, I know I wouldn’t have been the first gay man to have a child with a woman, but I was so scared.”

Hongjoong suddenly wishes he was there for him, that he didn’t run away the second he found out that Seonghwa was supposed to become a parent. It broke his heart to see him with another person, even if they were a one-night-stand; a mistake. But we all make those.

He takes a long gulp of his tea, still warming his fingers from the biting chill of the outside that he just can’t shake off. “I’m happy it all turned out well, too,” Hongjoong murmurs. 

“Yeah, except for the part where I lost you,” Seonghwa suddenly confesses. 

And saying it like that feels like being punched in the throat, all his breath whooshing out of his lungs, and instead filling his chest with emotions he thought were so deeply buried inside. His wounds slowly closing up, giving him a chance to heal.

Hongjoong takes hold of Seonghwa’s hands that are wrapped around his own mug of tea, and he finds the chill suddenly disappearing. “We said we’re starting over.”

“We did,” Seonghwa confirms, squeezing Hongjoong’s fingers in return. 

“Okay, so you didn’t lose me,” he says.

“No,” Seonghwa agrees. “I found you,” he smiles and squeezes Hongjoong’s fingers again.

“I didn’t return your scarf,” Hongjoong suddenly remembers. 

“Hm, you can return it to me next time we see each other… On a date maybe?” his cheeks start reddening like ripe apples.

“Okay, next time,” Hongjoong agrees.

It is a new beginning.


End file.
